Hollow
by shirayuki-x
Summary: She only pressed her fingers down her throat and sobbed over a toilet, because that was the only thing she knew how to do anymore.


It used to bother her. How her stomach would growl in between classes, how her teeth would chatter whenever it was just the slightest bit chilly, how her energy left her if she stood for too long. How she had to fight the urge to stuff a spoon full of fat-free yogurt in her mouth. They had forced her into it. They had abandoned her in her time of need. No, rather, they were never with her in the first place.

First there was Nate. The golden boy with golden hair. The prince who was supposed to sweep her off her feet. The ideal perfect boyfriend, who, in reality, wasn't so perfect after all. Unless of course, perfection included sleeping with his girlfriend's best friend, ditching her at a party to confess his love to said best friend, missing her birthday, and blaming her for every fault he himself possessed which she'd forgiven. And of course, dating her to get on her _mom_'s good side and leaving her for _Vanessa_. Oh, where does the list end? To put it into simple Brooklyn words (although it has been proven by Cabbage Patch - who got into Yale - that arguably, not _all_ Brooklyns are stupid), it _doesn't_ have an end.

Then there's Serena. Tall gorgeous Serena, who dominated the school. Who got into Yale without even having to pass any of her classes. Who could throw a party, get someone killed, and not even get suspended. Serena, the most popular, the most pretty, everything that she was not. You might classify her as a dumb blonde; it's true, she always has her heads in the clouds. And when it comes to her best friend's feelings and welfare (not to mention school and taste in boyfriends), she was pretty clueless, it must be admitted. But that didn't matter, because she made up for all these flaws with a pretty face and a slender figure. She seemed to lose weight along with every brain cell she lost.

Let's skip over her mother, who would do anything to have her best friend as a daughter no matter how clueless, how reckless, or how uncaring said best friend may be. Let's ignore her father, miles away in France with a model (not to mention, a _male_ model) when she needed him the most. Let's pretend that the girls on the steps, who have no _life_, no _social awareness_, and no _taste_ (as proven when they chose Jenny Humphrey to be their new queen), don't really exist. After all, without her help, they wouldn't have existed. Or at least, they would never have led an existance that mattered even _if _their trust funds can buy the entire Upper East Side and more.

To the world, it seemed as if her friends have pushed her into this. And to some extent, they have. But she was really doing it to piss off her parents. Or was it to please them? She didn't know anymore. There were a million excuses; to become the daughter her mother wanted, to be able to fit into those dresses Serena wears so effortlessly, to make Nate want to take her back. She did it so someone would notice. She did it so someone would care. So _he_ would care.

She didn't know when it started, or how long it has been going on for, only that it was getting more serious. She could no longer help kneeling over the toilet, and sometimes, she didn't even have to shove that finger down her throat. Her stomach no longer bothered her, and she no longer had anymore cravings for food. It had turned from a comfort to a need. It had become necessary, another course in her life.

She used to think she could plan out her life. She used to think she would know exactly how her life played out. She was wrong.

She would've been right. She had forgiven Nate so he would still be her golden boy. She had accepted Serena so she'd still have the status of being the golden girl's best friend, if not the golden girl herself. She had taken in the girls on the steps so she could have an entourage of copy queens. She had put up a fake facade so that everyone would think she led a perfect life in and out of her family.

The only thing she had miscalculated was Chuck Bass, notorious womanizer of the Upper East Side. Chuck Bass, who saw through her with a single glance. She hand underestimated him, never given him a role in her life other than her boyfriend's best friend. And he never would've gotten one. That's the way the story should've played out.

It started with a drunk night, and escalated to a full time relationship with ups and downs. With Chuck, she felt that she could finally be herself; that everything would fall into place without her having to put on a mask to show the world. But in the end, even Chuck had abandoned her - or had she abandoned him?

In the end, she didn't get into Yale despite her years of planning. Her parents didn't get back together - instead, her mother fell in love with Cyrus Rose; fat and bald. Made Cabbage Patch look marginally handsome. Serena lost trust in her, the girls on the steps turned against her one by one, and although Nate was back with her, it just didn't feel right anymore. Her father was dissappointed in her, Dorota didn't know how to help her, and she had no future. Her fairy tale ending was crushed, along with all her dreams and years of planning.

In the end, she couldn't plan out anything. The only thing she could control anymore was the click of a lock, the all-too-familiar scene of a white, porcelain toilet bowl in front of her. That sickening pleasure as the food hurled back out of her mouth, as she knelt before her own vomit and pressed her ice-cold hand to her forehead. The taste of her toothbrush mixed with the bitter saltiness of her tears in her mouth.

So she continued to destroy herself inside out.

She didn't call out for help.

She didn't get on her knees and beg.

She didn't stand through the pain and rewrite her story.

She didn't try to change.

She only pressed her fingers down her throat and sobbed over a toilet, because that was the only thing she knew how to do anymore.

She waited. She waited for someone to come and force her to eat her food, to force her meals down her throat and forbid her to spit it back out. She waited for someone to care. Someone to listen. Someone to love. She waited as she lay on the bed, coffee curls spread on the bedsheets beside her, her eyes drooping slowly. She waited as her head spun, and she lost consciousness.

But for whatever reason, they let her be. Maybe they had given up hope, lost trust in her, were turned away by her betrayal. Maybe they didn't care anymore. Or maybe, a small voice whispered in her head just before she passed out, they never cared in the first place.

She waited...but no one came.


End file.
